


The Magnus Manor

by Janethecat



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Alternate Universe, An invite to an old ‘castle’, An unreal reality, And he goes, Childhood Trauma, F/F, It's Not Paranoia If They're Really Out To Get You, Jonah Magnus is a dick, Jon’s being cryptic, M/M, Martin and basira are friends, Martin works in customer service, Martin’s trying his best, Not understanding reality anymore, a sense of unease, add tags as we go, but that isn’t important to the plot, descriptions of being watched, feeing nothings real, feeling of being watched, mannequins, per usual, so many fucking mannequins, the general unease of being watched
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-02
Updated: 2021-03-11
Packaged: 2021-03-14 13:15:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,855
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29792466
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Janethecat/pseuds/Janethecat
Summary: He always loved those stories, you know the ones, someone gets invited by a distant relative to an ancient castle and them actually choosing to go. Of course, those were just story’s and his mind romanticized them being comprehension anyways. It would never happen to anyone he knew, let alone himself!That is, until he himself received a letter with those exact details.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
Comments: 4
Kudos: 15





	1. Day ?

His mom didn’t like him being out longer than he had to be. He thinks it’s because she doesn’t want the fear of him being out so long he could actually be gone. 

Later, when he’s older, he’ll know it’s because she’d be hoping he was gone. 

Now though, he was home early as always, though his clothes were more than a little ruined after another kid had pushed him into a mud puddle. 

Martin walked into his home, already having accepted getting yelled at and was not disappointed. His mother screamed herself bloody at him for doing what he did. Once she’d calmed down, she told him to go change so she could clean him up. 

Happy to get out of the drying dirt, he quickly did as told and changed before walking down the stairs as slowly as he could. 

His mom didn’t like it when he ran, said it hurt her head. 

As promised, she patched him up with ease before giving him a long look. He’d been expecting something else from her, maybe more yelling, possibly her telling him to get out of her sight. He did not expect her voice to go low and even, as though making sure he heard every syllable falling from her lips. 

“Martin, listen to me and don’t you forget, this world is not kind nor cruel to you. It is simply doing what’s in it’s nature. If you cannot respect somethings nature, you will never understand how to avoid its nature.” He simply blinked at her at the time. Why would he, an eight year old, care about nature’s nature? 

Still, he nodded. She repeated the movement and rose. 

“Now go to your room. No noise for the rest of the night, you know how it hurts my head.” His eyes had dropped to the ground, not wanting to meet the cold ones of his mother. 

“Yes mom.” He quickly left, not wanting to hear her demand he call her mother instead and trekked up the stairs and into his room. His mom always sent him here, what she didn’t know was that he could open his window and wriggle out. 

So that’s what he did. 

Maybe she just wasn’t expecting it from him. He knew he wasn’t small like some of his friends or most of the kids from school, but he could still get through it. 

Out on the cold landing as the sun started going down, he stared at the shambles on their roof. A small web had been formed by a spider, when he wasn’t sure but there it was. 

As he watched, its little legs scurried in and out of sight and he wished he could do that. Who knows, maybe one day he could just, exist outside of other peoples anger but he didn’t feel like he’d be doing much otherwise. Maybe, just maybe, he could simply exist.


	2. Day -14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Customer service sucks. Also, he receives a very odd letter in the mail

In the face of another persons fury, normal people would cower. In the face of a customers fury, retail workers simply looked off into the nearest camera as though on The Office. 

“You should be fired!” She screamed at him, clutching the cup of hot liquid in her hand so hard he started to worry she’d crush it. Then again, it seemed a better outcome than her throwing it in Martin’s face as he feared she would do. 

“Ma’am, could you repeat your order back to me? Perhaps I got it wrong somewhere.” 

“Yeah,” she screamed and repeated the order. Every point she made he ticked off in his mind as doing correctly. 

“Why don’t I simply remake it for you? Would that suffice?”

“You get it wrong and I will be making a complaint about you to your manager.” Rolling his eyes once his back was turned, he got to finishing her drink. In record time, he handed it back to her, the exact same drink, and she took a sip and nodded. Without a word she turned and stalked back out the door. It slammed shut behind her, the bell he dreaded with every part of his being ringing uselessly at her departure. 

Scoffing at the absurdity of it all, he slumped his shoulders and locked the door behind her before starting the fun task of cleaning up. An hour later he managed to get back to his apartment and flop onto his couch while groaning. He didn’t even know why he kept working there anymore. He had another job, he could probably get by on that alone. Then again, that tiny part of him in the back of his mind kept reminding him maybe he’d meet someone. 

Of course, that part grew smaller by the day as more and more annoying people came and went. 

A shrill ringing startled him out of his revere enough for his body to fall off the couch in his scramble to get it. 

“Hello?” He practically yelled into it as soon as his finger slammed into the accept button. 

“Martin? You okay?” Basira’s voice filtered through the receiver as he stood back up rubbing at his shoulder. 

“Oh, yeah, just startled me.” She hummed. Figuring he might as well do something with himself, he shuffled towards the kitchen while waiting for her to talk. 

“Right, anyways, thought I’d call and see if we’re still on for Tuesday?” He’d just managed to pull down the box if his favorite tea when she’d said that.

“Uh, yeah? Not like I have anything to replace it with.” 

“Good, me neither.” He waited for her to talk once more as he put on a kettle. When it became apparent she wasn’t going to, he did. 

“Was there a reason to call besides that?” 

“No not really.” 

“You couldn’t just texted,” he teased, knowing she’d rather die then try and text someone. Some days he wonders if he can only meet and make friends with people who refuse to fully accept modern day technology. 

“Yeah, probably. But I didn’t.” 

“Right, well, while I have you, you’ll never guess the stupidity I had to deal with today.” 

His days were a repeat of each other. Get up, go to work, get off that job and go to his other, get home late and pass out. Sometimes he’d get a rare day off in which he would either visit Basira or simply do nothing. One such rare day off, he was lounging on his couch staring up at ceiling when he remembered he’d ordered a new mug after he’d broken his last week. 

Checking the time, he took a gamble hoping they’d already delivered and went out to his box. Once retrieving it, he slipped the several letters and bills onto his table before undoing his package. Once setting it up and getting himself another mug of his favorite, he settled down to deal with the rest of the junk mail. 

Bill, bill, coupons, letter from old college friend, another set of bills and-he paused while looking at the bottom of the stack. A inconspicuous letter sat there, innocent enough if he were only from a hundred years ago. 

On the front, his name and address written in swooping letters he didn’t recognize. Raising an eyebrow, he reached out cautiously and took it in his hands. On the back, it’s opening was guarded by a wax seal with the image of a decorated eye on it. The symbol threw him off, not in a good way, and he half wanted to throw it in the garbage without looking. His curiosity won out over his caution and he ripped it away and pulled out paper thankfully feeling like any other paper he’d held in his life and not the product of a hundreds of aging. 

“What the...” he stared down at the words written there, reading and rereading them over and over again until he could recite it. To be fair though, not once when he read it did it fully make sense to him. 

_ Dear mr. Blackwood. It is our pleasure and honor to invite you to the home of James Wright for a meeting amongst those of the old families at the Magnus Manor on account of researching and recreating historical events having taken place here.  _

_ I am fully aware you may not know however, once a long century ago there was a dance that I, James Wright, have recently found to be undocumented. I have been researching what once existed and long since retired and have reached out to other families to request their knowledge and presence. I believe it would benefit all for this historical event to be uncovered and documented and will pay your fares to come here, only if you accept. If accepted, call my number and I will discuss it further with you.  _

_Awaiting your response, James Wright_.

It had to be a joke, right? Him? Useful? Unlikely. No it was probably one of the kids from the lower floors playing a prank on him. Still, it did mention a number and his phone was a few feet away. He picked it up and instead of calling, searched the number. 

Immediately, the wiki page for a man named James Wright came up. Clicking on that lead him to a plump man with an odd smile who seemed generally uninteresting except for one thing, he bought a huge house out of basically nowhere twenty years ago. The website named the place as being called the Magnus Manor with it’s own separate link. 

Raising an eyebrow, he clicked on it. His eyes were met with the sight of a castle worthy building, stretching fields around it and woods around that. Doubt starting to both dissipate and grow, he kept reading. Burnt down in seventeen fifty-eight only to be restored ten years later with an extensive budget due to an unknown donor, passed from hand to hand, random ghost stories. Then on it lists all the attributes about the home and not to trespass on private property, etc, etc... standard stuff he still had doubts about. 

Bitting his cheek, he glanced at the number again. No, he couldn’t. He still had two jobs, bills to pay, responsibilities. Besides, he didn’t know anything about any sort of ‘dance,’ even if his ancestors attended it. Then again, Basira does keep telling him to take more risks in life and he had enough vacation time saved up. Besides, maybe it’d be a good distraction from his mom passing and she did leave him all her stuff. Maybe one of those boxes would tell him something other than her being a hoarder. 

Before he could recollect himself and fully realize what he’d been doing, his phone was by his ear and ringing without him knowing what was happening. 

“I wondered when I’d get a call!” A chipper mans voice picked up on the second ring. 

“Ah, yes well, um, wh-who am I speaking to?” 

“James Wright, though you haven’t given your name yet.” Blinking, Martin thought back on the short conversation and wondered why he was acting so familiar with him if he didn’t know. Realizing he’d forgotten to answer, his cheeks heat up. 

“Ah, M-Martin Blackwood. You, ah, you sent me an-“ 

“The invite to discuss at length the history of the dance! Yes!” 

“R-right. Well, uh, I just wanted to, I don’t know, make sure it wasn’t an accident that it ended up with... me.” As he said it, he realized how ridiculous it sounded. His name was not only on the letter, it was also in the envelope itself. Couldn’t take it back now though. 

“Ah, yes, I worried calling you out of the blue would cause this but don’t fret! I did indeed invite you specifically mr. Blackwood.”

“Oh,” he muttered. “Well, um, thank you. Then I-I guess I’ll do it? Then?” 

“Wonderful! Any fares you’ll need shall have been sent to you immediately.” His tone was cheerful as the line went dead, leaving Martin to sit there, phone still clutched in his hand as he stared down at the piece of paper before him. He did it. He actually did it. He was going to-where was he going again? Magnus Manor! Yes! 

Breathing out, he dropped his phone onto the table and stared at it. How was he going to get there though? There was no directions in the letter that he could remember. Riffling through it, he hoped for a miracle and felt his eyes widen and jaw drop. Somehow, he managed to miss a train ticket, fare enough for a cab or six, and directions. How he could miss that he wasn’t sure. One thing rang through his mind at certain though, he was going to have a hell of a time trying to explain this one to Basira. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> End of chapter two! Once again thank you for reading and I’ll try to update as soon as I can


	3. Day 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Martin arrives

Two weeks, three phone calls, two separate sit downs with both his bosses and a lot of yelling from Basira later on this being an irrational decision later, he was packing to go. Clothes, check, toiletries, check. He had everything and would leave in a few short minutes. His train would get in around three and he’d been warned the cab was no short ride. Easy as pie!

Passing his kitchen, his eye caught on something. Deciding he’d rather have an almost empty box than nothing, he grabbed the last box he had on hand if his favorite tea and threw it into his bag, ignoring the small amount of tea still in it. Who knows if he would need it but at least he’d have some backup of all they had was Oolong. Gulping, he looked around his apartment once more before pulling in more air than his lungs would allow and shutting the door.

The train ride was as long as he’d been expecting it to be, his seat hard and uncomfortable straight and the snacks weren’t even worth the money. The cab wasn’t much better, smelling of old smoke and regret as his driver played some kind of punk music too loud over the radio. Still, it was worth it as they emerged from the tree line onto a road lined with bricks. They pulled up at the end of a roundabout in front of the building and he suddenly felt very small.

Oh boy, what w _a_ _s he doing_? He couldn’t do this? Basira was right to tell him this was a bad idea, it w-

When did he get outside. Looking around, he found himself stranded out front with nothing around but him and his bags. And the entire house behind him but he didn’t count that. His ride had driven off without him wanting them to, leaving him stranded there like the last kid to be picked up after school. How stupid, really, do you have to be to accept just any invite to a creepy mansion you find.

Apparently, really stupid.

Then again, he was the one to accept it so maybe there was something there. Doubtful but still. He was left alone to stand outside the mansion staring blankly up at it like an ant with a boot. It was massive. Three floors he could see with the house stretching out on both sides of him. It was an odd shade of yellow, somewhere between sickly and homey. It made his eye itch to look at.

No amount of research or pictures prepared him for the sheer size of the place but he should have gotten clued in when they had to go through two separate sets of gates to get here. Even after looking it up, he still expected more of a quaint little bed and breakfast. Instead he got English castles.

Why did he accept the offer again? He wondered while ducking down to retrieve his bags without thinking. Sure it was his name on the envelope but maybe Wright had made a mistake if some kind, found the wrong ancestors name. He had looked further into the guy after calling. James Wright. He seemed like an old man simply losing the last strands of sanity and accidentally inviting Martin.

What if him being here actually was a mistake? He didn’t even know much about this whole dance thing. Surprisingly, the internet search on it didn’t result in anything useful except an aesthetic site and another on some old English legends.

He froze on his way to the door, the fears that had been plaguing his mind for the last month coming back full force enough to stop him in his tracks. If the opportunity was still available to him, he’d have taken the chance to leave. As it was, there was no chance, so he sucked in as much air as he could, straightened his back and re-shouldered his bags before marching up to the door like a man soliciting at a home with the sign ‘No Soliciting’ clear as day next to the doorbell.

He hesitated on knocking, one hand raised and the other held white knuckle grip at the bag clutched in his hand. Maybe he could hire another cab to come get him. It would be there in maybe thirty minutes, surely he could wait that long.

The door swung open as he made up his mind to turn around. There stood a short angry looking woman with shockingly blue hair and what looked to be a permanent scowl in her face. She wore what his mind could only place as grunge on a low budget mixed with maid, though he wondered about the hiring of someone who looked to do arson for the fun of it.

“Ah,” he stuttered out, surprise leaking into his voice. Her eyes widened a fraction but that was nothing compared to the eyebrow that raised almost into her hairline. It wasn’t the greeting he’d expected but it was better than nothing he supposed.

“Can I help you?” He blinked, half hoping maybe the temporary blindness would help him make more sense of the situation. It didn’t work out as he hoped it would and instead it seemed to make it worse as he could have sworn he saw someone over her shoulder. When he skirted his eyes back in the direction it came, they, whatever they were, had already disappeared. Old houses, he decided to explain to himself.

“Ah sorry,” he said, shaking himself out of his stupor and ducking his hands into his pockets before pulling out a now slightly crumpled letter, wax seal still clinging to the front tab.

“I was invited here by a Mr. Wright? The letter mentions a-a-“ she cut him off with a solemn look and a nod before scooting off to the side and gesturing him in.

“You must be the Blackwood then. Come on in.” Eyebrows furrowing at the use of his last name, he wanted to question her on what she knew. The letter was clear on what he was asked here to do, but it was also vague for the most part in everything else. He really should have read the fine print more than he did.

“Yeah, Martin Blackwood actually. And you are...?” He asked cautiously, skirting into the home as far away from her as he could and started glancing around for another escape route.

“Melanie.” She replied. The entranceway wasn’t well lit so he could see little more than his hand if he held it out. As it was, he thought he made out the form of a chair and a clock but she moved in front of him before he could keep looking.

“I’ll show you a room.” Her tone suggested she wasn’t willing to talk more as she gestured sharply for him to follow and led him through several halls he knew he wouldn’t be able to navigate with any hope of accuracy before dropping Martin off with an old brass key and a snarky ‘Good luck’ in front of a tall oak door. He stood there far longer than he probably should have, simply staring at where she’d disappeared before numbly turning to the door and shoving the key at it.

As he tried to slip it in, the key fell from his hand and clattered into the ground. He blinked slowly down at it before sighing and bending down to pick it back up. He must really be out of it to drop something so light. Probably jet lag. When he managed to straighten back up, he could have sworn the door didn’t used to be pine. Why wouldn’t it be though? Not like someone could replace a door in the three seconds it took for him to pick up a key.

Choosing to ignore it, he once more slid the key towards the door and this time managed to hit his mark and click the lock in place. Settling his eyes on the room he wished he wasn’t as surprised as he actually was. To be fair though, how often do you open a door expecting a closet and receive something bigger than his actual apartment.

The main area had couches, bookshelves packed full with books and a kitchen to the left. The walls were splashed with a green paint somewhere between vivid and inky. The bedroom was a separate room to his left and he found inside the bed was shoved against a singular wall with an armoire across from it, a full body mirror he planned to avoid, and several chairs around a stable looking table.

The bags slipped from his hands as soon as he saw the bed and he flopped uselessly onto it, only to stand right back up and peer at the bed before him in disgust. It felt wrong somehow, to lay on the thing. He didn’t like the feeling, but he needed sleep for he’d already been awake far too long to stay awake any further. He sighed and willed himself to crawl back on before remembering the whole currently unused couch in the living room. 

Grabbing as many blankets as he could find, he fell onto the couch and was excited to find it didn’t feel like anything. He pulled out his phone to call Basira and tell her he’d gotten there safely. No signal. Grumbling, he moved it a few feet to the side. Still nothing, and the battery was low. Sighing, he threw it onto the coffee table by his feet. Maybe the place had a private network he could ask about later. Later sounded like a good idea to him. Later indeed. Next thing he knew, he fell into a dreamless slumber, snoring softly to the walls.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And there’s three. Four will be done by tomorrow but we’ll see


	4. Day 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It was spacious, and luxurious, and quiet, and cold. One room seems like it would be enough yet, he finds, it’s really not.

When he finally managed to pull himself from his slumber, it was no longer his first day there, more like his third. His second day was spent napping about and looking through some of the books on his shelf.  


Light had spread over the vast home thanks to him missing sunrise and rising at nine in the morning. He barley managed to raise an eyebrow at this before shrugging and making his way back out of his room, the end of his sweater clutched in hand.

He was invited here to speak with Wright about what could have happened, but Wright wasn’t here right now and he might as well try and do something before that. He’d spent all day silently expecting to receive a knock on his door, a letter slid underneath, anything to tell him there were not just more people here, but that he was here for any other reason besides them wanting to murder him with a pipe, which is what it had began to feel like. He remembered going through the hallways before, the never ending doors and turns. He’d be lost within five minutes, he was sure of it.

Somehow the thought of being lost seemed better than spending another moment alone inside that room. It was spacious, and luxurious, and quiet, and cold. One room seems like it would be enough yet, he finds, it’s really not. Not his cup of tea. Speaking of which, one sounded lovely right now.

Setting off in the one direction he actually remembered taking, he quickly regretted taking the path as it led to a fork in the road. Then another and next thing he knew he was in the exact predicament he’d predicted from the start. He was lost. If he hadn’t wanted to end up like this, he’d be worried. As it was he chose to look at it as a way to get more familiar with his surroundings.

His footsteps echoed around the corridor as he continued along. One such split in the path resulted in him either going left, right, or straight. He was all set to keep going straight when a slight movement to his left caught his eye. Blinking, he looked that way and was convinced he’d imagined it when it happened again. Tilting his head, he started towards it, keeping a steady pace behind it as it kept going around corners just as he did. Sometimes it would be a milky hand and other times a disjointed ankle.

“Hey, hold on,” he called to whoever it was. He didn’t mean to scare them and he wanted to apologize for if he did. At the same time, they looked hurt if the ankle was anything to go by.

“I’m not trying to hurt you!” They didn’t slow down and he was beginning to lose stamina. He’d managed to get down to the first floor while chasing them and he started to seriously consider the idea of stopping, but he couldn’t. He couldn’t explain why, but it felt wrong to stop. He had to know where they were going, and to be honest, the fact that they were barefoot worried him greatly. 

He turned another corner and saw it do the same but their footsteps sounded off as he approached the corner. Almost like they were getting closer. Rounding the corner, he found Melanie going the opposite direction of him, and almost managed to run into her. He would have if he didn’t cry out and she jumped back. Her head snapped up and her eyes widened, but they weren’t focused on him, they were focused somewhere behind him.

His brows furrowed as he went to look at whatever caught her attention, wondering if it was the same person who’d caught his, when her arm shot out to grasp his. 

“I’m so sorry,” she cried, dragging his attention back onto her. “I didn’t see you coming, you okay?” He blinked blankly at her before nodding without remembering doing it.

“Yeah, think so. You?” She nodded and he took that as his excuse to leave. Except, she moved to block his path. 

“Oh, sorry, I’m just trying to,” he gestured vaguely at the hall behind her and she waved him off.

“Where you going?”

“Just,” he hesitated, glancing back the way he’d wanted to go before mentally shaking himself out of it. There was nothing wrong, it was probably just another member of the staff trying to mess with him and forgetting to drag Melanie in on it. Then again, did messing with someone usually go as far as running barefoot?

“I was just trying to get back outside. You know, go on a walk and all.” She nodded solemnly before looking only once over his shoulder and nodded again.

“I’ll show you the way,” she offered and turned. Without looking back she stalked off. He glanced behind himself one more time and once more caught the edge of a hand before shaking his head. Not his problem anymore. Melanie led him around with such speed he was suddenly thanking his genes for his long legs, as it wouldn’t have been a fun trip otherwise.

As it was though, she still managed to lose him twice before she stopped in front of the same door he’d entered through what seemed like only an hour ago. He opened it and peered outside to find it sunny but with a layer of damp mist clamoring across the ground.

“So, you’re here for the ball right?” She asked while he stuck his body further and further out the door, inching away from the look of longing she sent the world outside. He gulped and tried not to look to panicked while freezing in his footsteps and looking back at her.

“The what?” He wished it didn’t come out as hysterical as it did. Still, she nodded solemnly and glanced around.

“You know, the thing you were invited for.” He moved back inside without thinking to face her fully rather than squint at her shadowy form.

“No one mentioned anything about a ball!” Without taking his eyes off of her, he ripped it out of his back pocket, where it had stayed since he’d arrived incase he needed to prove why there was a random man wandering around a house that wasn’t his, and opened it up. Taking his eyes off of her resulted in her moving to stand next to him and painting down at a section he knew hadn’t been there before.

“See?” And he did. ‘ _The Dance will take place on the thirteenth of March, please pack a suit for the event_ ’ was written in the same writing as the rest of it just before Wright’s signing off. It was impossible, he’d read over the thing then reread it and reread it all over again out of confusion. Nowhere had it ever said anything of the sort. Apparently, it did though as the writing was clearly the same age as the rest of it. If he’d had bothered to look up, he’d have caught the pitying look she sent him.

“You didn’t bring anything,” she said, sounding less like a question and more like it was a good thing he’d been so unprepared. It snapped him out of his focusing on the paper to look up panicked at her.

“No, I didn’t.” He whispered. The paper crumpled in his hand as he crushed it in his grip. She nodded in some stupid semblance of understanding before glancing around and sighing.

“I might have someone who can help, but you gotta give me a day or two to find him.”

“Will there be enough time?” Finally, she smiled. Sure it was more a smirk than anything else but he counted it as a win.

“Please, two minutes would be enough time for this guy. Besides, you’ve still got a week and a half. Plenty of time. Assuming he actually does it.” She muttered the last part but he caught it anyways. They were the only people there.

“Okay, okay. Thank you.” She waved him off.

“It’s fine, you’ll owe me one.”

“Why do I get the feeling by the end of this I’m going to owe you a lot more than one.” He joked and it fell flat as worry crossed her face. 

“Let’s get you the end of this thing first before you go and start talking favors.” With that she waved and left, leaving him standing outside yet another door confused. He turned back to the door, fully committed to going outside and ignoring the creepy still silence of a house that should be full on account of the ball he apparently wasn’t important enough to tell. Maybe they didn’t tell him for a reason. 

His hand hesitated on the door handle, idly resting his fingers there without actually taking in the feeling of it. Maybe he should go back to his room. He did get a pretty good walk in just getting down here anyways. But he did come all this way and made Melanie go out of her way to show him.

He’d just made up his mind about going out when someone moved behind him. This startled him for two reasons. One, he was completely zoned out and not paying attention. Two, he was certain no one had walked in without him noticing yet the noise came from directly behind him. Slowly, ever so slowly, he turned. It was so slow by the time he’d turned someone else had actually appeared to his left.

He cleared his throat and Martin screeched while scrambling away. Halfway to clutching at his chest, Martin stared at the middle aged, short man. He had wrinkles where frown lines would be and a mustache to make you think maybe you were wrong about the wrinkles. The pale blue eyes threw him off more than anything, yet there was no doubt as to who this was, he’d seen the pictures after all.

“Ah, you must be mr. Blackwood!” He cried at the sight of Martin while moving to stand in front of him. “I am James Wright, this is my home you’re standing in.” His voice was low and probably supposed to sound comforting but it grated on Martin’s ears and nerves. Still, he had invited Martin here and as such he needed to be nice. Straightening up, he smiled at Wright and nodded.

“It’s beautiful.” Wright nodded and didn’t take his eyes off of Martin.

“Indeed it is. I do apologize for not greeting you upon your arrival but there was a prior commitment that needed my attention.”

“Oh, totally. It’s cool, Melanie got me a room and everything.”

“Good. Would I be wrong in assuming you’d want a tour then?” He tilted his head towards Martin, eyes looking up and through him.

“Oh,” he said, startled and not willing to do more than collapse onto a couch with a cup of tea and no one within ten meters of him. “That would be nice but maybe another time.” Wright nodded and began to move past him.

“If you change your mind just tell one of the staff to find me.” With that he was gone, leaving Martin alone. Wasn’t he supposed to discuss something with him? Clearly the other figured they’d have time later as he walked away without a second though. At least it gave him more time to try and come up with some kind of story.

Once the other fully disappeared around the corner, he wasted no time in peering around the room, looking for anyone other than Wright. He didn’t find anything other than the dust covering the top of everything above five feet. Straightening up he decided this was ridiculous. What was he looking for? A ghost? Ghosts don’t exist, therefore he must have imagined someone behind him.

Placing his mind deep on the denial spectrum, he turned and blindly walked around until he found a staircase, then wandered some more until he found another. In all it probably took him far longer to get back to where he was staying than it ever would have to get the tour, but he didn’t regret it. Not much at least. How could he when he finally spotted it and was able to have tea in five minutes flat.

It’s a shame, now that he thinks about it, that he didn’t take that tour. He could have asked more about the ball he’d only now heard about.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m sorry! I said I would have this done two days ago and got busy running around and doing stuff. But! Here it is. Cant promise how soon I can write the next one but I’ll try to have it out by next week.

**Author's Note:**

> *Jazz hands*
> 
> Something I thought of at two o’clock in the morning while bing listening to edgy songs(I know). I hope you all liked it and thanks for reading!


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